Fullmetal Alchemist:Butterflies
by ember53608
Summary: An alchemist, an automail engineer, their daughter. A Fuhrer, a subordinate, their son. An identity, a friendship, their betrayal. A taboo, a temptation, its burden. A war, a secret, its revelation. Together, their story. Rated T for the future... R&R!


*FACE PALM* I put Brotherhood instead of Butterflies and it was posted. Fudge. . . fudgefudgefudgefudgefudge... I DELETED IT AND AM SO SORRY ABOUT THAT!

**This is based on "Titliyan" (Butterflies) by Strings, but… it's in Urdu, so I'll need some time to translate. (Though Urdu is my native language, I don't exactly know everything…) Patience in this fic is greatly required and appreciated; translation: all will be revealed in time. Also, reviews (especially ones with constructive criticism) are generously welcomed! **

**Disclaimer: No, I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist. If I did, Ed would've had amnesia by now… All those hits to the head, they have to have some effect, right? Don't worry; I swear I won't make that happen!**

_Nineteen forty-two, twenty seven years since the end of **that **war; most of our original characters live the ideal, peaceful life, or at least they try to. However, in some of these people's lives, even when one cycle of pain and horror supposedly ends, a new one always tends to begin…_

**_Wing One - Want_**

_A wooden door, fresh and anew, barely opened. Two children, staring at the small, mahogany puddle seeping from under the door. Two children, peeking through the doorway, curiously, fearfully. Two children, their eyes wide with panic, the screams hanging in their throat stifled from shock. One girl, running to the telephone sitting casually on the living room table. One boy, pushing the door completely open. _

_ A woman, sprawled across the floor, blood endlessly flowing from where her arms should meet her body. Blond hair, flowing across her back, ends stained by the mahogany liquid. Blue eyes, seemingly lifeless and dull, eyelids closed halfway. A bookshelf, with various spaces only to be completed by the three open books laid on the floor._

_ A circle, chalky lines and curves intricately drawn inside of its encompassing form. Powders, ranging from white to gray, only scattered pinches remaining. Black forms, globs, rising slowly from the wooden slabs, beady red eyes staring precariously. A scream, piercing the already murky air of the usually pleasant home. _

_ A chain, held in her hand, polished to a fine silver. A dragon, carved expertly into the shining metal, representing their home. A grasp, her fists gradually tightening around the precious thing. A blink, lazy and powerless, the world around her becoming a complete blur. And lastly, a word, much too muffled and slurred to be understood._

The blonde sits upright in her bed, breathing heavily, hands tightly clenching the white sheets. Towards the front of her bedroom stands a young woman, maybe two years older than her, who turns back to stare at her queerly. She wonders what could have caused her sister to wake up in such a frenzy, and slowly, a grin begins to creep its way up her face. She teases, "What, another one of your dreams again?"

Shooting her a fierce glare, the teenager slips out of bed, heading towards the closet at the other end of the room. As she shifts through the different clothes, she mutters to herself, "More like freaky, alchemic nightmare."

Once she's made a decision, she slams the door forcefully, hoping that her older sister will leave. But all dear Trisha does is walk up to the very closet door and question her. "So, what was it this time?"

She narrows her eyes, ignoring her sister for a moment as she slips one of her mother's loose, white shirts on. Thinking back to the events of the nightmare, she rolls her eyes, knowing it's too unreal for Trisha to take. Lazily, she replies, "Is it normal for you to believe me?"

The woman tilts her head a little, pondering on the spoken thought. Fumbling with something in her pocket, she decides she's willing to satisfy Amelie just this once. "No, not really."

Roughly pushing the door open, she walks out, grabbing a thick, leather bound book from her desk. "There's your answer."

Having been pushed back from the force of Amelie's shove, she sits on the floor, smiling a little. Her little sister is an interesting thing; taking on the beautiful looks of her mother, she's the perfect image of calm and innocence. However, there's also the heated anger and the sharp tongue she also inherited from her mother, dangerous to anyone anywhere.

She stands up, making her way out the door, upon which a long, silver chain is hung. The locket hanging at the bottom of the chain is a pretty one, having lasted long years of danger and peril. A hand-me-down from her father, it's something she knows Amelie greatly treasures, careful to not let it be stolen. Her little sister knows that there's something inside, and yet she's never bothered in trying to open the silver locket. But maybe it's better that way, better for the not yet unveiled secrets to remain hidden.

The blonde's entering the kitchen now, fishing around the cabinets for something to eat. As she rummages voraciously for firepower, her cousin walks in, an empty plate in hand. She takes on the more innocent appearance of her father, gifted with light, golden hair and bronze colored eyes. "Morning, Amelie," she says, frowning just a little.

"Huh?" The blonde turns around to face her cousin, who's now washing the empty plate. "Oh, Nina. Morning." She returns the greeting, pulling out some of the apple pie Mrs. Hughes was generous enough to send them. Taking two slices and sliding them onto a new plate, she asks her cousin a hovering question. "Where's Curt?"

The teen alkahestrist sighs contentedly, a peaceful smile on her face. Slowly drying the dish with a cloth, she replies, "The little runt's asleep for once. Late nights of alchemy tend to keep him in bed, you know."

The blond laughs heartily at this, the image of her little brother sprawled on a floor covered in drawings of transmutation circles amusing her to no end. Like her father and uncle, little Curt took an early interest in alchemy, surrounding himself with dozens of books on the subject. Her mother would always be complaining that he'd end up just like them, which was something Amelie never did or never chose to understand.

"He's quite the Edward Elric isn't he?"

A sweet biscuit now in her mouth, Nina coughs violently, her eyes slightly watering. "Excuse me? Do you not remember **yourself** as a kid?"

"What? Was I really that bad?"

Rolling her eyes, the brunette puts away the biscuit box, then turning to Amelie. "I have to help Mom in the shop, so I'd best be going. Granny's with Trisha and Garfiel today, so you'll have to handle the counter."

"Well, it's not like I have anything better to do…" She drags out every word, hoping her cousin will sympathize with her and give in to wonderful alchemic research. But…

"You know what Mom will do if you're not there," is how Nina answers, a triumphant smirk on her face. Turning around, she makes her way out the kitchen, leaving Amelie to sulk in solitude (if you don't count the pie, that is).

Groaning, the blonde sets down her book on transmutation of different elements, following her cousin into the hallway. A few seconds later, they come to a wooden door, the entrance to the family's alkahestry shop. Amelie feels herself being pulled towards the other end of the house, where Granny, Garfiel, and her sister are working on residents' automail, but Nina roughly pulls her past the threshold.

What faces them is a decent shop, with towering shelves lined carefully in columns of five. Different herbs and medicines are stocked in the shelves, with a book or two on alkahestry set here and there. An incorrectly stocked item grabbing her attention, Nina walks into the organized disarray, as she does every morning. Sighing, Amelie heads to the front of the shop.

There's a cluster of customers gathered by the counter, ranging from little children to mothers and fathers. Rumors and other tidbits of gossip travel through the crowd as they wait to place their order. Being the only alkahestry shop in Rush Valley, business is always up and running.

Once seated, she sifts through the many drawers scattered about, attempting to find the recording notebook. She's on the third drawer of the first row when someone gently rings the bell sitting on the wooden counter. Looking up, she finds herself face to face with a redhead, tall and lean, a large mailing box resting comfortably in her hands.

"I know your dad's in Central and all, but the address used was this one. If you want, I can resend it…"

"No! I mean, it's fine. They'll be visiting in a few weeks anyway. I'll give it to him then." Nodding, the teen makes her way out the store, a whole cart of mail awaiting her. Taking the box gingerly from the counter, Amelie places it gently near her feet, to where its smooth surface brushes against her skin. Turning back to the drawers, she manages to find the notebook, noticing all the while how impatient the customers are becoming.

An eager smile on her face, she addresses the first in line, a young woman maybe in her low 20's. Speaking somewhat rushed, the woman says, "My son has had diarrhea for almost a week now, and it's starting to worry me a little bit. Do you have anything that could help? I just moved here, and people said that this was the place to go."

"Diarrhea, that's something we haven't had in a long time, but I'll send an order anyway. If you could wait just a few minutes, that'd be great." She scribbles something on the piece of paper as the woman steps aside, conversing with the other customers as they come. After a few minutes, she's gathered seven orders of herbs, medicines, etc.

Turning to her right, she stretches her hand up, clipping each piece of paper to a thick, hanging cord. The cord crawls down the back of another shelf, ending at a transmutation circle carved into the wooden counter. Clapping her hands together, she slams them onto the counter's surface, which begins to crackle with blue sparks of energy.

All of a sudden, the cord moves, causing the papers to travel towards the back of the store, where her cousin is. It'll take Nina a while to find the right items, so she decides to take the box back to her parents' room. She hasn't been in there in a while anyway; the feel of it should do her some good. Giving a short announcement, she steps into the house's hallway, walking gingerly.

In only three minutes, she finds herself staring at a white door, old and with dust gathered on the ridges. Taking her left foot, she gently pushes it open, as it never closes properly anymore. The oddly satisfying smell of oil, books, and metal washes over her, bringing back the memories all at once. She smiles, thinking of all the times she snuck into this room as a child.

To her left is a bed, made and untouched, not a single wrinkle flawing its surface. On either side of it are two bedside tables, objects pertaining to her parents laying peacefully on their hard surfaces. Sighing, she walks over to the closet at the other side of the room, once again opening it with her foot. It's practically empty, with nothing but a few boxes stacked near the back of it.

Walking over to the boxes, she observes their labels, written in her father's quick, fluid handwriting. Three are set aside solely for her father's books on alchemy; they're slightly ajar, as she takes books from them to read often. Another one is filled to the brim with metal scraps, nuts, bolts, and anything that screams "automail".

The last one, however, is something that truly catches her attention. Unlike the others, it's sealed tightly, with what she thinks is alchemy. It's something she's never seen before, with the exception of her father's State Alchemist chain. Slowly, she traces her fingers over the black numbers, pronouncing them softly. "Nineteen fourteen to nineteen sixteen. . ."

Suddenly deciding that she'll look into the matter later, Amelie stands, leaving the mailed box to rest in unopened peace. Closing the closet door behind her, she begins to head outside into the hallway, when something, yet again, stops her.

It's a desk, simple yet expertly carved, its edges sharp and defined. There's a tall glass of fragrant lilies; these were her passed grandmother's favorite, or she's been told by her father. Sprawled across the majority of the desk is a map, aged and curling in on itself, held down by only two nails. And finally, there's a pocketbook, with dates for the year neatly inked inside.

Ever since her parents had permanently moved to the heart of Amestris, noting their yearly visits in the pocketbook had been common. At the end of each visit, she'd question them thoroughly, anxious to know the exact date of their next visit. Wearily, they'd smile and hand her a slip of paper, from which she'd eagerly copy down the scrawled words.

If, if she's right, it's past the thirteenth of January, nineteen forty-two. Taking a quick breath, she opens the pocketbook, quickly flipping to the silver bookmark. It's a rectangular piece of automail, flattened to where it's no thicker than a fingernail. An image of the whole family had been carefully etched into its surface only three years ago, providing a lasting memory.

Slowly removing the treasured bookmark, she reads, reads the month and the date and the month and the date and so on. It goes on like that for quite a while, her electric blue eyes becoming duller by the second. In the top left corner of the page are two, black numbers, inked in obvious, fluent cursive. She's right.

"You miss them, don't you?" It's a little boy, with golden hair and golden eyes identical to his father's, his fingers slipping through her own. She's startled by his sudden outburst, startled by the fact that he's detected her feelings so easily. So instead of replying, she chooses to stare, stare at the innocent, little boy in front of her.

"Mommy and Daddy, you miss them." Slightly irritated by the fact that she won't reply, he repeats himself, turning his question into a solid statement. He knows full well that she has to say something, and so he waits patiently for her answer. She hesitates a little, fumbling for the right words. But soon enough, she becomes downcast, and a mere two words escape her mouth.

"I. . . I do." In a hasty attempt to escape any further questions, she once more averts her gaze to the pocketbook. He thinks he sees her pupils spark with a bit of their usual blue, but for the most part, they resemble a brooding ocean. Squeezing her hand gently, he says something that will either warm or heart or shatter it into a million pieces.

"But look, 'Melie, the thirteenth is just in. . ." says the boy, turning to his fingers for mathematical help. ". . .in seventeen days!"

She smiles at him affectionately, for once hiding her true thoughts and feelings. As intelligent as her little brother is, there are times he can't help but be the little six year old he is. Softly, she replies, "Yeah," all the while thinking something completely different. _They said the thirteenth of January, Curt, not February._

He grins foolishly back at her, and slowly, his fingers slip away. Energetically, he runs out into the hallway, towards what she thinks is the automail shop. Sighing softly, she steps out as well, the usual smells of the house bringing her back to the present. After turning back to give the room one last look, she walks away hurriedly, deciding that she most certainly won't be greeted by happy customers.

However, there is one positive thought running through her mind: she's left the door to her parents' room open. The smells, the appearance, the whole aura of the room; it should do the family some good, in her opinion. And so she walks away, her blonde hair swishing back and forth, her eyes truly electrifying; the wooden door, an opening to their veiled world.

**So, good, bad, or alchemically genius(as quoted by Lizzie)? Review, review, review! **

**By the way, the Elric siblings, in order:**

**- Urey Hughes Elric: 22 (not yet introduced)**

**- Trisha Louse Elric: 19**

**- Amelie Sara Elric: 17 (main character)**

**- Curtis Van Elric: 6 (middle name may change…)**

***At the end of the show/manga, we only saw two siblings. However, in the newly released "Fullmetal Alchemist Chronicle (Official Guide)", Arakawa-sensei said that Ed and Winry had many kids… I didn't want to go overboard, so I did nice and simple four. **

**I'ma see y'all (I BE TEXAN!) in… I dunno… Whenever I update I guess… Bye Bye (ENVY)…**


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